


The Demon Doctor

by envythenight



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M, relationship is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envythenight/pseuds/envythenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's guilt and martyrdom lead him to Hell where he waits. For what, Crowley doesn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon Doctor

Sometimes Crowley wonders who the Doctor really is. The only name he ever gives is ‘the Doctor’. Whenever a lower rank demon who doesn’t know better asks, the Doctor presses his hands to his stomach, like he’s trying to make sure his name doesn’t escape, and for a moment he’s broken. 

Then he looks up. Then he moves. 

The demons don’t come back to his section for weeks, they’re so mentally scarred.

Crowley’s heard, he’s heard, that when the Doctor first came, there was a look of relief and utter peace on his face. When he was on the rack, he never screamed. He just looked at the torturer with his big, sad brown eyes and a look of thanks.

He’s the same, but different now. Crowley’s heard.

The Doctor never came to his attention until he had already switched positions. The torturer, no longer the tortured. How he became the demon he is, is unclear. There are different stories. Crowley doesn’t believe any of them.

The Doctor revels in the blood. He willingly deals out the harshest punishments. He doesn’t show an ounce of pity for the tortured souls. 

Crowley’s heard he was different topside. 

He’s waiting, the Doctor. Always waiting. Crowley can tell. Every time a new soul is delivered, the Doctor is first in line to view it. He always comes away from the introduction disappointed, wiping the blood from his hands with a lost look on his face.

Crowley asks him, who he’s waiting for. The Doctor replies, eyes shining with emotions that Crowley has never seen in him before — love, adoration, desire — “My Master.”

“How do you know he’s coming down here?” Crowley asks, confused. If the stories about the Doctor are true, he was a good person. How could he know someone topside coming down?

“Oh, he’s coming.” 

The Doctor has never looked more certain in the time that Crowley’s known him — an odd two hundred years, give or take a few decades.

The Doctor doesn’t talk to anyone else. Crowley’s heard. 

He never made assumptions based on the fact that the Doctor doesn’t talk around others. Being the king of Hell has some perks, if you could call the Doctor a perk. There’s no reason to; the Doctor is nothing special, not really. But he’s probably the most intriguing demon Crowley knows, and that’s something.

He’s the most likely contender for his second-in-command, until a new soul arrives. 

The minute it happens, Crowley knows. A man steps forwards, looking around with withdrawn disdain, his dirty blonde hair shimmering in the non-existent sun. He doesn’t look like much. He’s wearing a grimy black hoodie and jeans. Crowley wouldn’t give him a second glance. But then he looks to the Doctor and draws back in surprise.

The Doctor is looking up at him with a mouth open, awed look like the man is God. His eyes are shining, glittering.

For the first time, Crowley hears him utter words to someone other than himself. But the way he speaks now is different to when he’s talking with Crowley. With love and awe and desire, he whispers, “Master,” like a prayer laid unto God. 

The man, the Master, looks up at the Doctor and grins wickedly, as though everything has fallen into place. It unsettles Crowley slightly but the Doctor smiles and closes his eyes, like everything’s going to be okay. 

The Master steps forwards and runs his fingers through the Doctor’s hair, who’s now kneeling at his feet. His fingers tighten, pulling slightly at the chestnut locks. The Doctor sighs in contentment.

“Perfect,” the Master breathes, breaking his gaze from the Doctor’s and catching Crowley’s.

His eyes are unsettling. They speak of a destruction and chaos far greater than one Crowley would wreak. 

“I win,” the Master smirks. 

Crowley looks to the Doctor, whose eyes shine as though he were looking at the sun.

Everything’s going to be alright.

Crowley’s heard.

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea when I saw a gifset with a black-eyed Doctor several years back. I didn't publish it before now because a) I thought I might write a series of one-shots in this verse and b) I thought it wasn't good enough to go up. But one-shots are not forthcoming and it's not doing any good just sitting on my hard drive so...


End file.
